


the very best of us string ourselves up for love

by halcyonidae



Category: Marvel Cinematic Universe, Thor (Movies)
Genre: Family Drama, Fix-It, Gen, Post-Infinity War, Technically major character death
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-08-22
Updated: 2018-08-22
Packaged: 2019-06-30 04:05:17
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 9,299
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/15743910
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/halcyonidae/pseuds/halcyonidae
Summary: Valhalla is nothing like the stories say it would be.





	the very best of us string ourselves up for love

**Author's Note:**

> For #13.
> 
> Title from Vanderlyle Crybaby Geeks by the National.

There's sunlight glowing pink through his eyelids, and he drifts lazily through consciousness, disembodied thoughts that ebb and flow. Once in a while he wakes up enough to register the heady smell of summer grass, the soft touch of a warm breeze, tendrils of hair falling over his cheeks like a particularly ticklish river; but his limbs feel too heavy to brush them off, and he never feels like trying. Sooner or later the warmth lulls him under again, where he bobs gently through wisps of dreams, always too intangible to remember.

So it goes; until one day, he breathes in deeply and startles awake.

When he finally opens his eyes, he's dappled in sunlight, a grove of golden leafed trees bowed low over him. Through the leaves he stares up at a cloudless blue sky. He lays there for a long time. It's quiet, and he's never felt so rested, or so at peace.

A gold leaf flutters down and lands on his head. He blinks and picks it up, twists it this way and that, examining the fine red veins threaded through the pale gold. It reminds him of—

“Thor,” he says, and he sits up immediately.

All around him are trees burning brightly in the sun, their branches interwoven into a kind of blinding canopy. He finds himself cradled by their entangled roots, sheltered by a tree older than the rest and twice as large. When he pulls himself out, there is a well-trodden path through the sweet smelling grass before him, dotted with clovers.

He attempts to summon his daggers, but none appear no matter how hard he tries. He's barefoot, armorless, weaponless; all he can see is tinted gold by sunlight, and he's open to attack. The last thing he remembers is shoving Thor out of the way, and then Thanos—

At that thought his hand flies up to gingerly prod at a neck that should, by all rights, feel sore. Nothing hurts. He feels lighter than he ever remembers feeling, and a deep suspicion settles in as he gazes up at the tree he woke up under.

He considers the tunnel of trees before him, and starts to walk.

—

_Right before the proximity alarms blare, the ship jolts and rocks with a violent shudder. It knocks him off his feet as the ship tilts and he slams into his table of star maps. Cursing under his breath, Loki pulls himself up by clinging to the edge; the ship shakes once more and he ends up tripping and sprawling over one of the other navigators._

_He rolls to his feet before the piercing racket registers; he hesitates, but it's probably a mere scrape with some errant asteroid. The klaxons stop. For a moment he relaxes in the reprieve, goes to pick up some of their scattered instruments. Then the ship rocks again, and they begin their wailing anew._

_He drops his armload immediately, and Loki tears out of the makeshift throne room, shoving past disoriented people as he goes. He barely hears their panicked questions as he skids around a corner and nearly collides into Thor, Valkyrie and Banner hot on his heels; but they only exchange an urgent glance before they run in tandem towards the bridge, their people parting for them._

_When they burst through the bay doors, Heimdall looks up from where he holds vigil by the controls. Heimdall's usual calm looks disturbed: the frown on his face furrowed harsher in the blinking red bursts of the alarms, backlit by the glow of the ship's mainscreen. If Loki didn’t know any better, he’d say Heimdall looked panicked; but there’s nothing on the flashing screens around them except darkness._

_Then the darkness begins to move, a slow rise out of the black as the stern comes into view; behind Heimdall looms a starship that Loki knows all too well, and he feels the air punched from his lungs._

_“It’s him,” he can hear himself say distantly, staring up as the behemoth of Thanos’s flagship comes into cruel relief. There are long lines of fighter ships stretching as far as the eye can see, almost blocking out the void of space, and Loki takes a step back when Thor whirls around, his eye widening. “Thor,” he says, and he tries to damp down the panic, but his voice goes high and reedy anyway. “Thor, we need to go._ Now _.”_

_“What is it?” Thor reaches for him, concern writ large on his face, but Loki can’t bring himself to speak over the rapid heartbeat climbing up his throat._

_Valkyrie takes a long look at the display and swears loudly. “Not good,” she says, and Banner sits down at the station closest to her and starts to scroll at rapid speed._

_“It’s Thanos,” Heimdall answers finally, and Loki can’t bring himself to meet his golden gaze. The ship suddenly rolls under them and he has to clutch at a railing to keep his balance. The rest of the crew aren’t so lucky; he catches the nearest crew member by the elbow as she’s knocked back by the blow._

_“Shields at 60% and falling,” she says, already back at her station and tapping furiously through the Stateman’s vitals. She looks up at Heimdall. “Orders?”_

_“This ship won’t last long,” Valkyrie murmurs, staring over Banner’s shoulder. “It’s a pleasure craft, for fuck’s sake.”_

_“We can try,” Thor says grimly. “Get us out of here as fast as you can.”_

_The pilots bow their heads over their station, and it feels like a fervent prayer. They fire back the thrusters and the ship rumbles to life, reversing from the shadow of Thanos's fleet. For a brief second as the stars blur into long streams of light around them, Loki thinks they might make it, that perhaps their speedy retreat surprised Thanos in its anomaly, that they might get out of this alive._

_Then the klaxons go off again, and Loki knows himself for a fool._

_There's another violent jolt; the displays flicker. “Shields at 35 percent, main engine damaged,” the crew member says, and now she sounds panicked._

_“Thor, they've taken out our auxiliary generators. We won't be able to maintain hyperspeed for long.” Banner swivels to them. “I don't even know if the ship is going to keep it together.”_

_There’s a horrified silence, punctuated only by the ever piercing alarms._

_“We are close to one of the Xandarian outer planets,” Heimdall says to Thor, who's still staring up at the screen. “If we can make another three jumps, we may be able to request assistance.”_

_Valkyrie straightens up over the station she seized, and shakes her head. “We're not going to be able to jump even once at this rate. Thanos is going to outpace us, and fast.”_

_“Redirect all the power we can to shields, but keep heading towards the next star system,” Thor says, finally. “We may be able to hide from him.” The bridge bursts into activity; as all the nonessential systems shut down, the ship turns dark, dimly lit through emergency lamps._

_Thor crosses the bridge and lays a hand on his shoulder, more serious than Loki has ever seen him. “How many people can we fit on the escape pods?”_

_“Perhaps a little over two-thirds,” he says, and though he doesn't voice it, the way Thor's grip briefly clamps down tells him that they both know it's not nearly enough, not for a ship full of civilians and little else._ Asgard's warriors are dead _, he thinks bitterly, before he shuts that train of thought down. “In the state they're in, maybe a little more than half. Thor,” he says, and he catches Thor's wrist firmly, “Thanos will not let us go without struggle. He will chase each and every pod that gets out, and he has no mercy to spare.”_

_Thor stands still for a long moment, his eye searching Loki's for falsehoods. Then he heaves a heavy sigh and steps back. His shoulders bow, and Loki has a sudden moment of immense loathing as he stares at the way Thor hunches over like he has never done before._

_“Heimdall, tell Asgard to prepare for evacuation,” Thor says loudly, straightening into command. “How much time do we have before Thanos catches up to us?”_

_“Fifteen, maybe twenty minutes,” Banner says, “but if we push the ship any further than that our engine is going to go and our life support with it.”_

_“Then that's the time we have. Valkyrie,” he adds, and she lifts her chin. “Anyone who has a modicum of training will have to stay behind. Take all our engineers. Go to Xander as fast as you can. If they can send backup, Asgard will forever be in their debt. Bruce?”_

_“I'll stay,” Banner says, shrugging. “Haven't met anyone the Hulk can't pummel yet.”_

_“And you?” Valkyrie asks. “You can't possibly be thinking of taking him on your own.”_

_“We will buy you as much time as we can,” Thor says, and Loki catches the look on his face right as Thor turns away from all of them, staring at the mainscreen instead. It's both unfamiliar and familiar at once; Thor looks resigned, not a single drop of joy in the battle to come, his brow lined with fear and his remaining eye cast low. Above all else he looks like his father's son._

_Valkyrie rolls her shoulders back, lips pursed, but she doesn't offer a rebuke. She dips her head and strides out. Half of the bridge follows her._

_“Send out a distress signal as far as it can reach,” Thor says to him, his back still turned. When he goes to leave, Thor grabs his wrist and says, lowly, “Brother. Go with her. Make sure our people survive.”_

_Loki pulls his wrist away. “Isn’t that what I do best?”_

—

Soon he comes upon an expanse of fields undulating gently under the wind, bright yellow stark against an ever blue sky. “More gold,” he scoffs as he cuts through the tall grass. Even in Asgard he’s never seen this much gold in his life.

He walks for what seems like days, though the sun never sets and he sees nothing else and no one else. He keeps walking and he's not sure why. Often he thinks about doubling back; it feels endless and purposeless. Perhaps this is his punishment: to endure an eternal journey in search of some nebulous destination.

Still, he doesn’t stop.

Eventually towers begin to rise in the distance, their spirals luminous in the sun. They look so much like Asgard that Loki has to stop and stare. It sparks a feeling of relief so immense he nearly falls to his knees. It feels like touching down on the Bifrost behind Thor after a long campaign on the outer rim, exhausted and irritable at best; the first sight of home had always eased a tug of homesickness he didn't realize he harbored, and even now it fills him with contentment. 

He begins to run towards it, eager to see where it ends and soon Loki faces a pair of tall polished gates, already rumbling open as he slides down a golden hill. And there, standing just beyond them, are two people he thought he'd never see again, neither in this lifetime nor the next.

“Loki,” Frigga says, Odin standing tall by her side. She opens her arms and Loki flies into them as if he were a child once more. “My son,” his mother murmurs into his hair, laying kisses wherever she can, and he closes his eyes and breathes in.

 

Valhalla is nothing like the stories say it would be. Whatever he had imagined his afterlife to be, it was never a facsimile of the happiest times of his childhood; though he can’t say he’s too displeased. In his darkest moments, he had thought he would never be able to reach it and sometimes, he could never decide if he truly wanted it. Now, it's as if everything and everyone is perpetually haloed in the summer sun. Night never falls. No one sleeps, and yet no one tires. There are eternal feasts, bountiful and free flowing, and endless fights, bloody in glory as only Asgard can be. The halls seem to go on forever.

He spies armor from every era of Asgard, some so old that he has never even seen the like in his books. The dead are boisterous and solemn by turns, singing long gone shanties while wine overflows into their cups and his. It bursts on his tongue, sweet and tart and easy to go down, warming him from inside out as Frigga slides her arm into his and pulls him through the hall. Near the end the dead become more and more familiar until he sees everyone he once knew, from the tutors he used to hide from to the old grizzled swordmaster that set the first sword in his and Thor’s hand.

He sits between Frigga and Odin at the head of the hall, content to bask in their attention as they slide all his favorite dishes toward him. Suddenly he’s ravenous; he abandons all pretense at manners and shovels food into his mouth, each bite better than the last. Odin pours him some mead to wash it all down; he sucks in the heady sweetness of honey and feels sated.

There’s a rowdy burst of singing behind them; he swivels his head and there, at a table groaning under the weight of several whole roast boars and plump grapes spilling to the floor—

A large party of Asgardians feast together, familiar to him as only weeks on a space vessel can do, with Heimdall and the Warriors Three at their head. They turn in unison, falling silent halfway through their song, and Loki feels small under their scrutiny. Heimdall gazes back at him and Loki has to fight the urge to squirm as he’s reminded that he was the one who led Thanos to them.

Long after it becomes noticeably uncomfortable, Heimdall meets his gaze and inclines his head, raising his goblet.

The whole table follows suit, Volstagg and Fandral leading them in bawdy song; it’s as filthy as only they can make it, laughter erupting all around. Loki hides a laugh and lets his mother turn his head back.

“Oh, it's the other reject,” someone says drolly, and he jumps. Behind him stands Hela, her face clean of kohl and her hair bound back. It makes her look disturbingly young. Loki gets so far as to flex his fingers to try and summon his daggers before Frigga narrows her eyes at him, and he grabs his goblet as if he meant to all along; she had always hated having weapons at the table, and he remembers her lectures very well.

Hela takes the seat across from her, leaning over to examine him. “Doesn’t really look much like you, does he, Step-mother?” 

Loki bristles, but Hela continues, carving herself a bit of venison. “You died in battle? What, did you accidentally impale yourself after fighting an Alfar child for candy?”

“Hela,” Odin admonishes. She sits back and if Loki didn't know any better, he'd say she's definitely sulking.

There’s an awkward pause as everybody tries to think of a topic that isn’t fratricide.

She looks around, idly tracing the rim of her glass. “Didn’t they leave with you?” She asks, waving her hand at Heimdall and his table. “Where’s our brother, then? Dead yet?”

“I don’t know,” Loki snaps, but her words take root and he’s struck by an urge to check. He scans the feast and this time he scrutinizes every face he can see. He finds none of the Asgardians he had sent off with Valkyrie, nor is she among her sisters. He turns to his parents, and they shake their heads at him.

“Thor’s alive?” He tries not to sound hopeful, but Hela only laughs and raises her glass as if to toast.

“Thor Odinson, last of his name,” she says delightedly, and chews her roast in mock thought. “Well, I suppose he’s actually the last of our kind, or soon to be, anyway. Couldn’t have happened to a worse person. Not really the type you’d leave alone, is he?”

Frigga fixes a stern look at her, and Hela makes a face. “We talked about this, Hela. Be nice,” his mother says, and Hela huffs a sigh.

“Thor will be fine,” Loki says, but he knows she’s right when he can spot every friend, family, and confidante Thor has ever had in Asgard through a quick look around the hall. Still, Thor has always been alright in the end, and Midgard would welcome him like one of their own.

He tries very hard to convince himself of that.

He sees two ravens fly over his head to land on his father’s shoulders, and he gets an idea.

–

_The hangar is pandemonium as he sprints through, all the supplies he could gather floating behind him like a drunken parade of swamp mammoths. Valkyrie barks orders by the entrance, standing like a silver beacon in her armor as her blue cape billows around her. At the far end, a tiny group of engineers frantically work on a handful of damaged pods._

_He slides to a stop and flicks his hands; the crates divide neatly to shoot into each open pod. It's not enough to feed them all should the worst come to pass and the pods malfunction, but a bad chance is better than none. He nearly knocks someone over with a crate of meal packs in his haste, though he manages to cover the child's head with a quick swear._

_Asgardians young and old march past him, looking just as bereft and frightened as the day they escaped Ragnarok. He avoids their gaze, though some of them touch his arm as they crowd into each pod even past the point of overload. One by one the hatches seal shut with a hiss of air, and through the porthole, Loki watches how their heads bow as Asgard runs for the second time._

_Just as the first pod launches, the ship rocks violently and with a loud screech a beam crashes down on one of the damaged pods, killing the poor engineer still elbow deep within the wiring. Someone screams, and a child begins to wail._

_“GO!” Valkyrie shouts, slamming the button for the airlock. One by one the escape pods shoot out of the hangar, until there are only a handful of them left clutching each other, hoping that the last of the engineers can fix the last pod before it's too late._

_With a last spark, the pod roars into life; Valkyrie herds the rest of the refugees in immediately, scanning the hangar for any stragglers with her sword clenched in her fist. He steps forward with the last crate, bringing up the end of the line. Just as he kicks it under one of the seats and moves to close the hatches, the image of Thor standing alone as his people flee without him rises unbidden. Thor, fighting desperately with only the might of Heimdall and Banner behind him; Thor, his only eye shrouded unseeing as he inevitably falls alone, forgotten in the wreckage that always follows in Thanos’s wake; Thor, that brave and colossal idiot. Loki swallows thickly as he takes one long look at the people huddled in the pod and sees no one but Thor._

_He grits his teeth. Before he can change his mind, he goes back down the ramp._

_“What are you doing?” Valkyrie bangs on the jamb of the door, looking absolutely furious. “Get the fuck in, Loki.”_

_“Go,” he says tersely, “before it's too late.”_

_Valkyrie stares at him long and hard, before slightly inclining her head. “Your highness,” she says, the first and possibly only time Loki will ever hear her call him that. As the hatches close, she calls back, “Try not to die, asshole.”_

_When the last pod heads out, Loki lets out a slightly hysterical laugh before he swiftly turns on his heel, never looking back._

—

Each day the ravens fly out from Odin’s chambers in the northernmost tower, returning hours later to perch on his father’s shoulders and caw softly into his ear. Loki still has no idea when the day starts and the night ends; he has to rely on the ravens to keep time, if they even keep schedule at all. Nor does he know if they’re the same ravens that spied on the Nine Realms for Odin, if his father’s companions can transcend life and death to faithfully deliver news at will.

If he wasn’t so consumed by apprehension, Valhalla would be a mystery waiting to be cracked open. _So like Thor to always cause concern_ , he thinks, rolling his eyes as he overlooks the gardens.

During his life, Odin would spend hours in his study, concerned foremost by the minutiae of ruling Asgard and the rest of its empire. Here, his father chooses to spend his afterlife walking the gardens with his mother, mooning at each other without a care. All he has to do is wait until after the ravens come home to roost.

Soon Loki spots his parents alone under a gazebo, giggling like teenagers as Frigga spells up a perfect sphere of water from the fountain and traps Odin’s head inside. Odin laughs uproariously, and chases her all around the roses. Loki makes a gagging noise, but he takes his chance to dart up the tower while his parents are otherwise occupied.

Sneaking into the study is easy, and finding the ravens easier. They’re already settling into their perches for the night, though they peer down at him when he scoops seeds from Odin’s desk and approaches slowly.

He used to beg secrets from Odin’s ravens as a child, curious to hear what they sounded like, what kind of things Odin might confer with them. He wondered often if they were interesting conversationalists. When they were very young, he managed to goad Thor into catching one; that night he leaped out of the tree that overlooked their rooms, and broke his arm in the attempt. Loki had to suffer a resounding lecture from Frigga that ended with no supper, but when he tearfully snuck into the healing wing later that night Thor only laughed and passed him sweets he had hidden under his pillow. Even now they don’t speak to him, but Loki knows he has to try.

“WIll you grant me a favor?” Loki offers one a handful of birdseed. One darts in and lands on his wrist, claws gently pinching his skin, and starts picking delicately at his offering. He waits patiently as it finishes eating, though he keeps an eye on the other raven perched on the shelf above him. Still, neither speaks to him. “Whatever news you can bring me of Thor. All I need is to know he’s alright. Please.”

He’s startled as the raven on his wrist launches in a violent flurry, its wings barely grazing his cheek as it takes to the air. The ravens circle him lazily and it’s hypnotizing; before long he realizes they’re going faster and faster until he can only see a ring of black above him like a malevolent halo. He takes a step back, certain he’s about to be pecked to death by his father’s ravens, but before he can go too far they suddenly drop. There’s a blinding torrent of black feathers that envelope him, as deafening as only a storm of disturbed flocks rustling past him can be; he ducks and tries to guard his face from fierce beaks and claws that never come.

When the feathers recede, he’s wandering the halls of the Statesman. Its halls are empty and bare, made even more unsettling by the soft sound of an uneven rhythm he can't identify bouncing off every wall. It resembles the drip of a leaky faucet, almost overwhelmingly threatening, and he has to laugh at the theatricality of it all. He keeps an eye out nonetheless; but as he wanders further, peering into every room, Loki finds that he stands alone on a ghost ship. Then he hears soft footsteps echo closer to him, and hurries forward.

“Thor?”

He turns the corner and there his brother is, lost in the bowels of the ship. Thor walks like a wounded man, leaning heavily on the walls and shoulders dragged down, as though every step takes something irreplaceable from him. Loki has to stop and swallow thickly at the sight; he used to crow about wanting to see Thor like this, laid as low as Loki can bring him, but the reality of it is more than he can bear. When Thor staggers, it takes him too long to get back on his feet. Loki reaches out then and runs after Thor.

“Thor,” Loki says, and his brother still walks past him, as if blind to the ghost of his brother before him. He swings around him again, this time arms out to catch Thor by his chest. His hands phase through, and he stumbles back from shock. “Thor, _stop!_ ”

It works, somehow; Thor looks up at him, newly awakened, and blinks. He brightens, and Loki is glad to see it. “Loki,” he says, “how—you—” Thor reaches up and tries to take a hold of Loki's wrists, but his hands take hold of nothing. His face falls. “This is a dream.”

“I'm afraid so,” Loki says, and tries to touch him again; but Thor is as intangible to him as he is to Thor. They are no better than two spectres, passing each other in the night. Thor's mouth turns down, and suddenly Loki is afraid to see him weep. He tries to goad him instead, perhaps spark some outrage that will make things light. “Don't tell me you're going to _cry_.”

“Tell me this is another trick,” Thor begs, and again he tries to reach out only to catch nothing. It's as if Loki is made of smoke. “Tell me you wove another illusion, that you are here to mock me.”

All the mockery falls off his tongue in an instant. Loki is left with an echo of his brother, his chest heaving.

“You should’ve left with the others,” Thor says, finally. He looks angry.

Loki crosses his arms and tries not to feel hurt. “I didn’t mean for Thanos to track us down. And you would’ve died had I not intervened. You could at least say thank you.”

“If you had left like I told you to—” Thor’s voice rises before stopping. He sighs, hand over his face. “Forgive me, brother. I didn’t mean it.”

“Still not a thank you, I see,” Loki says before he can think better of it.

“You shouldn’t have,” Thor says, and now Loki sees how wet his eyes are. He has to stop himself from futilely reaching up to wipe his face for him. “My last words to you—”

 _You are the worst brother_ , Loki thinks, and he hides his wince. “It was probably deserved, in the end.”

Thor shakes his head but doesn’t answer; instead he gazes at Loki, his eyes moving slowly over his face as if drinking in every detail.

“Did you mourn?” Loki asks.

“Yes,” Thor says simply, “Come back. I need you.” 

Loki can say nothing, can only shake his head.

“And the others? Valkyrie?” Thor looks desperate, and this, Loki gladly answers.

“I haven't seen them. They aren't likely to be dead,” he says, and then a terrible thought strikes him. “Thor, haven't you found them?”

“No,” Thor says bitterly, and he looks so alone in that moment that Loki tries to touch him again to no avail.

“And Thanos?” Loki dares to ask. He has to shout: the strange rhythm from before starts to grow louder, almost maddening in volume. 

“I’m going to kill him for what he’s done,” Thor growls, and his eyes flash with lightning, sparks zigzagging down his arms. The sound grows even louder. “I swear, even if it’s the last thing I do.”

And then, with a last snap, it stops.

“I'm sorry,” Loki says, truthfully. He looks around him to avoid the sight of this Thor, unfamiliar in his anger and bitterness, and tries to make light. “What a mess.”

Thor barks a harsh laugh. “Isn't it?” Then he asks, “Are you happy? Did it hurt?”

“It didn't hurt,” Loki lies. “When you are ready, it'll be easy. And Mother and Father send their love.”

A black feather slowly floats down at the edge of his vision, and Loki knows that his time walking through dreams nears an end. He thinks wildly of something to say, some consolation he can give to make this right, but nothing seems adequate. In the end, as he starts to see twin shadows flitting around him, he tries to say goodbye.

“I have to go,” and Loki tries not to flinch when Thor grabs for him in panic, only passing through him instead. “You're waking up, I think. Thor, don't—don't do anything stupid. You better be old and grey the next time we meet.”

Thor just looks at him, and Loki feels a surge of fear. “Promise me.”

“It doesn't matter.” Thor wipes his eyes and studies him steadily before smiling, shoulders set in resolve. “Loki, I’ll see you soon. Wait for me.”

Loki gapes at him, and then he too tries to grab Thor. “Thor, _wait_ —”

But before Loki can yell at him for idiocy yet to come, a curtain of black feathers falls between them and he's yanked ungraciously out of the dream. He comes back to himself heaving for air on his knees, the ravens already far into the horizon with only a single feather crushed in his hand.

 

He crouches there for a long time, running the words through his head. _I will see you soon_ , he said. Thor can only mean one thing, and Loki wishes he was there to strangle him. He’s positive that Thor means to do something irreversible, with no one around him to stop him.

“So,” Odin says behind him, and he startles, clutching the raven feather like a lifeline. “Did you find what you were looking for?”

“...I don’t know,” Loki says, and he looks down at the feather, lost. “What would you do if you knew someone was about to make a big mistake?”

There’s a heavy sigh, and when he looks up Odin is looking towards the horizon, pipe in hand. “Perhaps,” he starts slowly, packing in fresh tobacco, “I would not turn away when news of his misdeeds reach me, nor would I hand him the throne in my worst hour.”

Loki flinches, but Odin continues, “I could have prevented his cruelty. Perhaps I could have saved the lives of countless people, even ours. I think I would have had to weigh the cost of one son over the other much sooner than I would have liked. And I have reaped my harvest and more from that mistake.

“Still,” he adds, lighting his pipe, “In the end, you are my son, and that will never change. I’d like to think that whatever my mistakes with you, that you are here now is enough for me.”

“I gave Thanos the Tesseract,” Loki blurts, and shrinks away. He pretends he doesn’t see how his hands shake. “Every one of our people who is here now, I led to their slaughter. I—I think I may have made a mistake.”

“Yes,” Odin says finally. “Perhaps you have.”

“How can I fix it?” Loki asks, desperate for his father’s prized wisdom. “Odin, what would you do?”

“Have faith in the living, son,” Odin says. “I think Thor may surprise you yet, and he has to learn from his own errors, as you once did.”

“Father—” Loki tries, torn between apologizing or defending himself, and Odin lays a gentle hand on his head. His eyes, when Loki dares to meet them, are kind.

“But who is to say?” Odin pulls him to his feet, brushes the dirt off his clothes as if he was still a messy child. “I think in the end, we can never predict if a mistake will destroy a world, or save one.”

—

_There's only silence now, and it rings worse in his ears than the alarms ever did; the ship is dead in the water as the last of the support systems die and leave them all trapped. Even the emergency lights blink slower and slower, and the lethargic rotation casts ominous bloody shadows in every corridor._

_It's only a matter of time before Thanos boards, and Loki pretends his palms aren't sweaty._

_When he rounds the corner, he can hear the distinct timber of Thor’s voice, reassuring in its deafening bellow; he follows it to the chamber that served as a dining hall only minutes ago. There he sees Thor facing the last of Asgard, Heimdall and the Hulk by his side. Most of the people who stayed behind were farmers, blacksmiths, the rare warrior long past his prime; from the wings he can see them wield whatever weaponry they could find. Some clumsily brandish swords like fresh-faced squires. Others hold pitchforks. A couple of girls, barely out of youth, clutch guns._

_None of them are Sif and the Warriors Three._

_“We will fight to our last breath,” Thor roars, his fist in the air, as if they’re heading out to the scrapes of their youth. Loki thinks about the flashy cape that should line his shoulders and a beloved hammer, and that thought turns into ashes in his mouth._

_He steps forward, and the moment Thor spots him he falters mid-speech. “_ Loki _,” he says, and everyone turns towards him. He smirks, hands out as though this is just another show, and his armor melts into existence around him._

_He cocks his head. “Surprise.”_

—

The first thing he does is seek Heimdall. In his heart he knows he has no right to ask this favor, but beggars can’t be choosers and of all the people he knows here, Heimdall might set aside their differences without asking too many questions.

Loki finds him in the observatory, staring out over the horizon as he sharpens his sword. There is still no night sky to be seen, but Heimdall had always been a creature of habit.

“Forgive me,” he says. Heimdall looks up as he runs the whetstone over his blade, the _shwick_ echoing throughout the chamber. If either of them were still alive, Loki would find it threatening. Now, he just finds it dismissive.

“Loki,” Heimdall says. “To what do I owe this visit?”

“I need your sight,” Loki says. “Will you look for Thor?”

Heimdall raises a brow. _Schwick_. “We are dead.”

“Yes, I _know_.” Loki refrains from rolling his eyes. “I need to see what Thor is doing. Will you help me see or not?”

Heimdall shakes his head, and Loki wants nothing more than to throw something at him for refusing to help his king. 

Then that feeling quickly dissolves into disappointment when Heimdall explains, “I cannot. I no longer possess that power.”

“Fine,” Loki bites out, getting up. He crosses the chamber, but before he can wrench the doors open, Heimdall clears his throat behind him. Loki turns around to see Heimdall set his sword and whetstone aside.

“If there were anyone who could, it would be your sister,” Heimdall says, and Loki’s face falls at the thought of approaching Hela. “Death has always been her domain. Loki,” he adds, “There is no good to be had when the dead interfere with the living.”

The warning rings in his ears as he leaves.

 

Now the only avenue left open to him is to seek his sister out. He finds her in the training fields, knocking every contender on their backs with a wave of fury. She moves with a singular purpose that reminds him deeply of Thor on the battlefield, but the resemblance ends where they both find joy in war games. Eventually, she takes a break; it takes time to reattach limbs, and even the dead need rest.

He jumps down from the stands and deftly steps into place beside her. She wipes the sweat from her brow with a rag and tosses it at him in greeting.

“There must be a way to Hel,” he says without preamble. She gives him what can only be called a stink eye before storming off. Undeterred, Loki scrambles after her, though he ducks when she swings her sword at him. “You spent millennia in Hel.”

“Who cares?” Hela says nonchalantly, sheathing her sword. “You're dead, reject. So am I. So are they. Now we all live in a happy family until one day, the Norns resurrect us and we fight the world devourers and we all die again. Pointless, really.”

She drains a goblet of wine, smirking when the pretty attendant shyly offers to refill it. Before she can get distracted, Loki clears his throat. “Don't you have anything better to do?” He asks idly, and the maiden blushes bright red and runs off.

“Do you usually get this annoying when Daddy doesn't pay you enough attention?” Hela demands, whirling around.

Loki crosses his arms, stung. “I do not.” Realizing how petulant he sounds, he drops his arms and tries a coaxing voice instead, “I'd get out of your hair if you just tell me.”

“No.”

“Why not?”

“I hate you,” Hela says, throwing her empty goblet to the ground. She starts walking away and Loki has to run to match her stride. “And also, what makes you think I'd tell you the truth? Perhaps I'll have you wandering between realms, mad for all time.”

“It's important,” Loki says, and digs down for a good lie, choosing to go with the first one that pops to mind. “It's for—research.” He winces at how bad it is, and adds, “I liked to map where the Nine Realms collided in my youth, you know—”

“Trying to leave paradise, are you?” Hela starts untying her armor, not even bothering to see if he'd catch them before tossing them his way. Her arm guards weigh a ton. “Well, I don't blame you.”

“What?” Loki says before he can think. He drops the armor onto a bench.

“Nothing to do but drink and fight, drink and fight,” Hela says, disinterested. She nods over at the field next to them, where another round of warriors spar with glee. “What a fucking bore.”

She eyes him then. “I haven't seen you in the ring yet. Not one for brawling?”

“Ah, no.” Loki pretends to dust off his trousers.

“Why? Weren't you Frigga's favorite? She was never one to go _soft_ ,” Hela says, and then she grins. The effect is a little frightening. “I'll make you a deal. If you accept, I'll tell you all I learned about Hel.”

Like a fool, he agrees.

 

The fourth time she knocks him to his knees, she slaps the back of his head. “Are you even trying?” Hela yells, retreating to her side of the ring. “Come on, little brother. I know you can fight harder than that!”

Loki lets his head thump on the ground with a groan. He aches like he’s gone several rounds with the Hulk, and it's not a feeling he relishes. He hasn't had to reattach anything yet, however, and it makes him think Hela is playing with him. He stares up at the blue sky, with that ever present sun irritating the hell out of him, and thinks about just laying there to lick his wounds.

Then Hela's face pops into view, her eyebrow raised in mock disappointment. “Giving up so easily?”

“No,” he grouses, and rolls over to get back up. He has to launch himself backward to avoid Hela's blade, missing his ear by mere scants of a second. He yells in outrage as he scrambles off the dirt, ”Haven't you heard of not kicking a dog when it's down?”

“Even a coddled dog knows to bite,” Hela says, and she sends a line of knives at his feet. He yelps and switches out with a quick illusion in the knick of time, breathing hard as he retreats behind one of the abandoned dummies in the far end of the ring.

“You know, I'm not sure you want this enough.” Hela leaps over the dummy, her sword at his neck. “Actually, I'm not sure why you want this at all. You seem like the type to enjoy lazing around and drinking wine all day.”

Loki, his arms crossed over his face to block a thrust that never comes, lowers them cautiously. “I need to get back.”

Hela's sword never wavers. “Why?”

He meets her gaze carefully. “Unfinished business.”

For a second, Hela looks like she's considering it, and then she kicks him so hard that he ends up crushing the refreshments table on the other side, the startled attendants scattered to the winds and wine soaking into the ground. “You want to try that again?”

He thinks his ribs might have broken, but he staggers up anyway. Before he can make an offense, he brings up a shield just in time for Hela's sword to glance off of it; the second time she swings, he's not fast enough and it slices through his leathers to leave a burning cut. He only has enough time to hiss before she's on him again, swinging relentlessly at his head.

“Are—you—trying—to—kill—me,” Loki forces out through gritted teeth, before finally he manages to thrust the edge of his palm up the underside of her chin and get a single kick in, enough to get him some space between them. He pants, hands on his knees, and then barely rolls out of the way as Hela comes at him again.

“Put your back into it,” she shouts, and in a last desperate attempt, Loki summons his daggers and sends them flying just as she has her sword swinging up from underneath, leaving her face unprotected. They stick the landing with a sick squelch, and Hela falls back, but not before her aborted sword swing manages to slice off his right hand.

“Ugh,” she says from the ground, pulling out the daggers one by one. One slid into her eye, and for a second she looks like Thor as she pops her eyeball out and has to squint her remaining eye to judge him. “I should've known Frigga wouldn't teach you how to use those properly. Neither of them did, did they? Even the golden boy never went far enough. Soft, both of you.”

“Shut up,” Loki snaps, holding his lost hand up to his stump of an arm. It's a little disgusting, the way it has to knit together, but ultimately painless. “We've had our own trials and tribulations, no thanks to you.”

“Is that what this is about?” Hela pops her eyeball back in and Loki grimaces at the sound. One of the attendants drop clean towels next to her, and she wipes away the blood and tosses the other clean towel at him. She looks amused. “What did Huginn show you that's got you all tizzied up about that big lump?”

“Nothing.” Loki has to restrain himself from shoving another dagger through her eye, perhaps both, and then, “How did you know?”

“He's all you've talked about since you got here. We're not _dull_. Unlike you, oblivious one.”

She gets to her feet, and to his surprise, she pulls him up too. “Come on,” she says. “I suppose the faster I show you the edges of this world, the faster you'll stop whining about it.”

—

_Later, they hear the march of Thanos's army rumble through the halls, a harbinger of the massacre to come. He holds his daggers so tightly that he imagines their hilts scarring permanently into his palms. He has a surge of regret about his dive into temporary insanity that only Thor can inspire in him, about giving up safety in return for certain death. Then he looks at Thor, standing alone at the head of their makeshift army and bathed in red, and he can't bring himself to regret it at all._

_Later, Thor touches his face and looks so thankful and sorrowful in turns that Loki regrets it all over again. He always did have a talent for making Thor look like that. “I wanted you safe,” Thor says, and then punches his shoulder. Loki winces, rubbing it gingerly. “But I am glad you are with me, Loki. Always, I am glad to fight with you.”_

_“Sentimental and an idiot,” Loki says, though not unfondly. Thor huffs a laugh and regrettably lets go, standing straighter than before. Then the first of Thanos's children blasts through the door._

—

After a while, Loki suspects Hela's having him for a laugh; not that he can tell, what with the endless fields that all look the same, no matter how affecting they look. He's certain that they've been walking in circles, but tries to stay patient; as long as he doesn't see Thor here, he has time.

Time has never been accountable in Valhalla, but he makes an attempt anyway.

He tries to tell himself that every time they climb a hill and he's faced with another sea of golden grass. He gets sick of watching every field rolling into each other like turbulent waves, and the way they only serve to remind him of Thor and his golden face. He starts to loathe each and every blade of grass, how they seem to count every second on the ticking clock on Thor’s inevitable suicidal idiocy. And he starts to loathe too the sight of Hela’s back, the only other thing around him to look at. She never stops or looks back. Sometimes, he entertains the thought of tossing a rock at her head to see if she’ll respond. There are never any rocks to be found.

Eventually, he stops, and takes a seat on a particularly comfortable looking patch of grass. They all look comfortable. “Is there a point to this?” He asks tiredly. 

“Why, is baby tired?” Hela turns around, hand on her hip.

“Yes,” Loki says. He leans back on his hands and tries to find shapes in the sky. There isn’t a cloud to be found. “I don’t have time for this.”

“No,” Hela says, and she crouches down before him. “You have all the time in the world. It’s Thor who is running out of time, and you can’t do a single thing about it.”

Loki surprises himself by tackling her with a roar; he manages to take her by surprise, though soon enough she flips them over and sits on him, twisting his arms behind him with ease. He wrenches an arm free and tries to pull himself out from under her, only to get his face shoved down into the grass. She laughs at him then, and he hates everything about her.

“Why are you so damn impossible?” He hisses. She leans close, and he tries to yank her hair.

“You’re the one who can’t accept that he’s dead,” she hisses back, “or the slow inevitability of death. _Grow up_. You think you can run from this? You think _he_ can?”

“I don’t _care!_ ” He spits out a mouthful of grass. “When has death ever stopped me? I’ve died more times than I can count and I can _always_ find my way back.”

“Too bad,” Hela says, and pulls his ear hard. “You’re _actually_ dead now, and there’s no way out. Don’t you think I’ve tried? All those years in Hel—you think I just sat there on my ass and twiddled my thumbs, maybe fucked a few ghosts while I was at it?

“There’s nothing but void between this world and the next,” she says, and now she sounds distant. “Not even Yggdrasil to catch you, or stars to light your way. It can make you mad when you look far enough.”

Loki exhales, tries not to think of falling. “I know. Show me.”

She pulls his head up by the hair and he tries not to wince. “Are you daft? Did you hear a single word I just said?”

“Thor needs me,” he says, so low that he can barely hear himself say it. “I can’t leave him again. And—I need to try.”

It gets quiet.

Suddenly her weight lifts; he flips to his back and catches his breath, arm slung over his eyes as he tries not to cry. The sun, as always, is too bright.

He hears a deep sigh, and then the toe of her boot prods him in the ribs. “Fine,” she said, “I can open up a tear. Don’t say I didn’t warn you.”

Loki scrambles to his feet as she walks off, her arms raised. She claps her hands once, and then with a tug, she rips a screaming void into the air. Nothing could have prepared him for this; there’s a roar that steals the very air from his lungs, and a coldness so deep that he can feel his exposed skin peeling back into bloody strips. He stares into it, and sees not even a glimmer of light.

 _She’s right_ , he thinks, and then, _This is a monumentally stupid idea_.

 _Thor would jump_ , says a very small part of him. So he gets as close as he can dare, closes his eyes, and leaps into the void. For a minute, he can feel every atom of his being expand and contract upon contact; he tries to suck in air but can’t find purchase. 

Then something grabs him by the collar and throws him back.

He skids through the grass, and it takes a minute for him to inhale and promptly choke on a mouthful of blood. When he looks up, the void is gone; not a single blade of grass is out of place, except for the ones he’s laying on.

“You—” He coughs, turns his head to the side to spit the blood out. “What are you _doing?_ You promised!”

Wordlessly, she points over his head. There’s a deep crackle of thunder in the distance, the kind that heralds torrential rain. Loki shoots up, and for the first time since he woke up here, he sees dark clouds rolling in across the sky.

 

Loki runs the whole way back, heart pumping so hard he’s afraid it might burst before he can get there. When he reaches Valhalla he slams through the gates, looking frantically over heads until he sees a cape so red it could only ever be him. He’s standing tall at the head of the hall, Frigga and Odin at his side. Loki stands frozen as he watches Odin clap Thor’s shoulder, joy on his wizened face.

He had hoped this moment would never come. It feels worse than he’d ever imagined, knowing that once again he’d failed; and now Thor is here because of his failure, millennia too early. It steals the air from his lungs, and suddenly he wants to destroy everything he can reach.

“Thor,” he says, but it comes out too low and hoarse. He swallows, and tries again. “ _Thor!_ ”

Thor turns around. It looks like the sun peeking out from behind the clouds, even with that terrible eyepatch he’s taken to wearing; he runs to him and they meet halfway, nearly knocking each other to the ground by the force of their embrace. With a wounded noise Thor buries his face into the juncture between his neck and his collarbone, and Loki can feel hot dampness spreading into his collar.

“You idiot!” Loki says, so angry he can barely see. He cradles the back of Thor’s head as gently as he can, though he wants nothing more than to pull his hair. “I told you not to do anything stupid, and do you listen?”

“You’re one to talk about stupidity,” Hela says from behind him. “Did you know this idiot was about to get himself irrevocably destroyed just now? All for the minimal chance that he could save your ass.”

Thor huffs a laugh against his chest. “Really, brother?”

Loki feels a hot flush crawl up his cheeks. “No, don’t be ridiculous. Besides,” he says angrily, “There’s no point in that now. What did you have to go and die for?”

“You,” Thor says simply, straightening up. And then he adds calmly, “I’m not dead, Loki.”

Loki lets that one sit as the monumentally ludicrous statement it is. “I’m worried you’ve hit your head.”

Thor holds up his hand in reply, where he holds six glowing stones inset into a familiar silver gauntlet. “I told you we would see each other soon,” he says, and the smile that dawns on his face looks brighter than anything Loki has ever seen. “I swore to you.”

“Forgive me for taking that the wrong way,” he snaps, unable to tear his eyes away from the Infinity Stones. He tries to hide the trembling of his fingers by burying them into Thor’s cape. He takes a long inhale, pretends he’s still so very angry. “You have a bad habit of trying to get yourself killed.” 

“I only meant to reassure you,” Thor says, after a long look. He scowls. “And it seems you’ve picked up that habit yourself, so I really don’t think you’re in a place to lecture.”

There’s an annoyed sigh behind them and they fall apart. “Did you really think I would've let you into the void between worlds?” Hela says, examining her nails. “Your mother would have killed me. Although it would’ve been very funny, don’t you agree?”

Frigga comes forward then, laying a gentle hand on Hela’s. “Thank you for watching over him, my love.”

“Hela,” Thor says regretfully, and he looks at the Infinity Stones in his hand before looking back up at her.

She rolls her eyes.

“What, so I can watch you two weep at each other like children and play babysitter? Ha! Fat chance,” Hela says, walking away. “Besides, _I_ don’t have a problem with the void. I have an old world to reconquer.”

“Well,” Frigga says, Odin behind her. “I did think it was too soon for either of you to join us.” She takes the two of them into her arms, her embrace warm and firm. She leans in close, looking at them in turns. “Remember, I am always watching over you,” she says, and she squeezes his hands. “I love you two so much. I always will.”

“Take care of each other,” Odin says quietly. “You have made us so proud. Both of you.”

Thor looks back at him, regal and solemn in his own right, and he inclines his head. He offers Loki his hand. “Are you ready?”

“Yes,” Loki says, and the last thing he sees before everything fades are his parents, smiling back at him.

 

He wakes up under a golden sun, gasping for breath and scrabbling for purchase in the grass.

At first he thinks he was dreaming, that he’d fooled himself and his brother didn’t really come for him; then someone squeezes his hand and he turns his head to see Thor, alive and bloodied, who nonetheless still breathes. He leans in and presses their foreheads together, closing his eyes. An explosion goes off in the distance, shaking the ground they’re on; but Loki stays here, with Thor.

“Loki?”

“I’m here,” he says, and for the first time in a long time, he takes Thor’s hand and rises up.


End file.
